


Memories, Whispers, Murmurs

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Addiction, M/M, Pharoga - Freeform, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Erik struggles with morphine withdrawal and the Daroga is there to take care of him. Post-Kay AU





	Memories, Whispers, Murmurs

He surfaces from peaceful sleep to the skittering of whispers. Half-forgotten voices in half-remembered languages, layering one upon the other and the pain flames hot in his stomach, a thousand tiny knives piercing his gut. Blood burns raw and metallic in his throat and he gasps, curling tighter in on himself to hide on them, those whispers mounting and mounting, the hissing of snakes, condemning dark eyes and curled lips and blood-stained pale fingers trembling.

"Erik, Erik, it's all right, I'm here, Erik, I'm here." A voice cuts through the whispers, safe and warm and he can only groan, the knife twisting deeper in his own gut but it wasn't his own gut it was someone else's and his hand on the handle wielding it. But the blood burned inside of him, burned and raged and he could only heave, his stomach on fire with the pain, poison and crushed glass and streaks of red on a white marble bath and it was never aesthetically pleasing and he never studied it but he should have, oh he should have and it would have prepared him for this, for fighting this, for breathing through the pain.

Whimpers reach his ears, near and distant all at once, somebody else's throat, his own throat aching and tight, and that soft voice is back, stroking his hair, pressing a cold glass to his lips. He should not drink from offered glasses. That was how it happened. _How many times have I warned you to employ a taster? Why do you have to ruin everything, Erik? Why did you kill me, Erik?_ _Why_ and _why_ and _why_ a chorus of a thousand _whys_ and he sips from the glass, the water dulling the voices, the pain, that voice soft in his ear.

"I'm right here, Erik, I promise. It's the morphine wearing off, that's all. It'll be over in a little while, I promise."

Those choking whimpers, strangling his throat, his fingers snagging on something soft. Silk, maybe. Fine Persian silk. He wore so much of it once, trying to stand out or trying to blend in and it was always so soft, so soft, so...

"That's it, Erik. Easy. Deep breaths. I'm here. I'm right here, I promise, and Darius is making tea to help if you can keep it down. You'll be all right."

_All right_. How can he be all right when the needles prick his skin a million times, not outside but inside? Internal needles rising from his muscles to pierce his skin and leave him bleeding from millions of tiny holes. And his cheeks are wet. Why are his cheeks wet?

_You have such a special_ talent _for crying._

His own voice, snarling, clearer than any of the whispers. He broke her, destroyed her, tore her apart like a rag doll and it was beyond him to put her together but he tried, oh he tried and he hopes she's happy now wherever she is, happy and safe away from him, away...

It is easier to draw breath, the pain a little weaker, but he is tired, so tired, his fingers so heavy, caught in Nadir's shirt.

Nadir has always been too good to him, too good. More than he deserves, and he did so much to hurt him too even though Nadir came back, pulled him back from the edge and fought to put his pieces together.

"I'm sorry." The words grate in his throat, hoarse and ragged, the beauty lost from his voice but Nadir shushes him, and smooths his hand over his hair, and presses his lips gently to his forehead, a kiss he can never get used to no matter how many times Nadir kisses him like that.

"I forgive you," Nadir whispers, hoarse with tears. "I forgave you long ago. Don't worry, Erik. I won't leave you as easily as that, I promise. I'll be right here for as long as you'll have me. Just relax, and sleep. It will help you. I'll be right here..."

His voice fades, softer than the whispers, drowning them, and though he can't hear the words the voice is enough, and as long as that voice is murmuring he'll be safe.

He sighs, and draws in a full, deep breath, the pain almost gone, that heartbeat steady beneath his ear, and those arms will hold him, always, and he need never fear again.

 


End file.
